


A Different Sameness

by MHammerman



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23069365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MHammerman/pseuds/MHammerman
Summary: Days after Kitty returns to the X-Men, she and Kurt wake up naked in each other's arms and aren't entirely sure how they got there. Will their relationship become easier or infinitely more complicated? Sequel to "Parts of a Whole."
Relationships: Kitty Pryde/Kurt Wagner
Comments: 14
Kudos: 18





	1. Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This is an updated version of a story originally posted on fanfiction.net many years ago (under the name Marg Hammerman). I've been getting back into X-Men comics lately, and felt the need to gloss up some old favs. Even if you've read this fic before, there's a few new tweaks you may enjoy :)
> 
> This story is set in the comics universe, somewhere around Uncanny X-Men #444 (when the X.S.E. is formed) and the beginning of Joss Whedon's Astonishing X-Men (when Kitty returns to the X-Men, but just before the mutant cure happens or Colossus is resurrected). But you shouldn't need that context to enjoy this story; the main beats should be fairly stand-alone. This is also a sequel of sorts to another story of mine, called, "Parts of a Whole." You don't necessarily have to read that one first, either, but if you enjoy this one, you'll definitely like that one, too :) 
> 
> As always—review if you like, but most of all enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer #1: I don't own any of the X-Men or make a dime from imagining their between-panel exploits.
> 
> Disclaimer #2: Remember, heroes believe in consent and safe sex!

**A Different Sameness**

**Chapter 1: Morning**

For several seconds, Kurt heard the incessant buzzing in what he was sure was a dream. Besides the noise, it was his favorite type of dream, in which his arms and tail were wrapped securely around the warm, naked body of a beautiful woman. Eyes blinking open wearily into a hangover-hazed consciousness, he realized it wasn't a dream at all, and that the body entwined with his was anything but anonymous. With a rush of remembrance and terror he realized that his arms and tail weren't hugging just any naked woman; his hand was nestled between the breasts, his tail curled around the bent thigh, of a naked Kitty Pryde, now awake and groaning as her arm crawled out from under the blankets to mash the alarm clock into silence.

"Hey..." she mumbled, giggling sleepily as he uncoiled his tail a bit too quickly. "That tickles..."

Taking his attempt to extricate himself as an invitation to greater comfort, she rolled over and collapsed onto his chest, rubbing her face against his fur, hand stroking his ribs. Kurt released a slow breath as her smooth, firm body snuggled into his. He considered how easy it would be to forget his misgivings and surrender back into oblivion, his mind drifting to a series of scattered memories of the night before...

_...fingernails cutting through his fur... heavy weight of hair on his face... a firm, sure grip sweeping down his tail..._

Kurt forced his eyes open, squeezing Kitty's shoulder as he whispered softly into her ear. "Katzchen... your alarm..."

He felt her blinking against his chest a moment before her roving hand stilled against his side. Then she hurled herself suddenly upright, deaf to his grunt of protest when her elbow collided awkwardly with his collarbone. Propped up against his chest, she made a quick survey of her surroundings, absorbing the smashed lamp and the trail of clothes heading from the door to the bed, including her red dress and his navy blue suit.

Virtually forced to stare up at Kitty's immodestly exposed breasts, Kurt couldn't quite resist the lopsided grin that spread across his face. "Good morning to you, too."

Kitty finally looked down at him, face twisting into a strange expression before she dove quickly back into the bed, gathering the sheets into her chest and folding her arms securely over them.

"So I guess this isn't a dream?" she asked.

"If it is, we're having the same one," he offered.

The joke didn't seem to register with Kitty, who continued to clutch the blankets to her chest and stare blindly up at the ceiling. Fighting warring compulsions to offer a comforting touch or teleport miles away, Kurt settled for trying to talk.

"I guess we should... talk about what..."

"We don't... you don't have to if...

"No, it's okay... I mean, I didn't..."

"Me neither, but..."

Their fractured attempts to speak devolved quickly into a silence neither one of them, full consciousness returned, seemed equipped to breach. In addition to a growing headache, Kurt felt increasingly ill, enough that he found himself seriously wondering whether he could make it to the bathroom without teleporting, and what would happen if he didn't make it; he'd never thrown up mid-teleport before, but there was a first time for everything.

As a compromise, he cleared he throat, and made another attempt to talk. "Kitty, I..."

He was interrupted by a knock on the door, resounding like a klaxon through the too-quiet room. They both listened to a second round of knocking before either of them could think what to do.

"Who is..."

Kurt's question was interrupted by Scott Summers' voice from the other side of the door. "Kitty? Are you in there? Is everything okay?"

"Damn it!" Kitty hissed, hurling herself out of bed and calling back, "I'm fine, Scott! Just overslept. Give me two secs."

Keeping his eyes discretely averted from the spectacle of a fully naked Kitty rifling through her closet for a spare uniform, Kurt slid carefully out of bed and started to gather his own scattered clothes off the floor.

By the time Kitty emerged from the bathroom a few seconds later, Kurt and all trace of him were long gone.

Kitty paused for a moment, blinking at the rumpled pile of bed sheets. A series of fragmented, alcohol-hazed memories flickered through her brain as she tried to decide whether to be angry or grateful for Kurt's disappearing act.

_...her thumb dipping into a heavy velvet crease of bellybutton... the forked tip of a tail swishing between her shoulder blades... the tickle of lips and fur behind her ear..._

"Kitty?"

"I'm here, Scott!" Kitty confirmed, hurrying to the door. "Sorry for the delay. Stayed up too late, I guess."


	2. Afternoon: Kitty

**Chapter 2: Afternoon: Kitty**

_It wasn't supposed to happen this way._

Even after a morning in the Danger Room, a team briefing in the company of Emma Frost, and a full afternoon helping Hank in the lab, Kitty hadn't hadn't been able to silence that thought. It had been running on a loop the entire day, getting louder the harder she fought to keep it out.

_It wasn't supposed to happen this way._

By five pm, it had begun to lose all meaning even as it became something of a mantra, a strangely calming reassurance of how completely she'd screwed everything up. It was reassuring because it kept her from surrendering to another, opposing, thought: _But it was worth it…_

Waking up naked cradled in the arms of an equally naked Kurt had started at the party the night before, a combined launch for the new teams, Scott's and the X.S.E. headed up by Ororo. The party hadn't been the first time Kitty had seen Kurt since returning to the Mansion and the X-Men. That distinction belonged to an awkward encounter on the main staircase three days before. For a split second, Kurt had looked decidedly disconcerted to see her; he'd hesitated mid-step, golden eyes flickering. Yet he'd quickly transformed into his usual chivalrous self, smiling broadly as he swept up her suitcases and carried them all the way to her door. He'd left her there with a friendly shoulder-squeeze, promising they'd catch up "soon." Kitty was familiar with the act; it was the kind of performance Kurt gave to pretty girls he was meeting for the first time, wanting to make a good impression despite having no real expectation of seeing them again.

As she'd smiled dutifully back at him, Kitty had seethed with frustration, equal parts furious and thankful that Kurt seemed to be going to such pains to ignore their last encounter the year before, when she'd forcibly kissed him, and he'd run away without so much as a goodbye. To the degree she was thankful, it was only because she blamed herself—for her impetuousness, and for the shadow of her long-ago stupidity, which had always loomed over her relationship with Kurt, but had become darker and longer in the immediate wake of the kiss. What had hurt most about Kurt blowing her off on the stairs was the fact it seemed to confirm everything she'd been afraid of the moment after she'd kissed him and realized he wasn't kissing her back—that by giving in, just for a moment, to her tangled, confusing desires, she'd driven Kurt away forever, as both a friend and whatever else he might have become.

And then, there was the party. Kitty had begun the night with two admittedly childish goals: to look spectacular, and give Kurt the explicit cold shoulder. Judging by the circumstances of the next morning, she'd only succeeded at one out of two.

Owing to her consumption of a not-insignificant amount of alcohol, the exact series of events was somewhat muddled. But she did remember arriving at the party, and seeing Kurt for the first time across the breadth of the Mansion's seldom-used ballroom. In a quiet corner of the densely packed room, Kurt had been embroiled in an intimate conference with Ororo. The one-time goddess had been wearing a plunging magenta gown, her silver hair stacked tall with golden hair combs. Her demonic companion had been wearing a tight black v-neck t-shirt under a slim-cut navy blue suit that was almost the same color as his fur. Kurt had been balancing a half-full wine glass with improbable grace in his ill-equipped hand while his golden eyes glittered up into the blue-eyed gaze of his longtime teammate. He'd been smiling lopsidedly as they talked, exposing a hit of fangs, and Ororo had been smiling, too, close-lipped, and mysterious, while Kurt's tail curled and twitched around their ankles. Individually, they looked gorgeous. Together, they looked better.

Unable to hear their words, Kitty had viewed their interactions as a pantomime, watching as a joyful laugh dislodged a strand of Kurt's wavy hair, spilling it over his forehead until Ororo reached up to tuck it back behind his pointed ear, her long, delicate fingers lingering on his neck.

Two gin and tonics later, Kitty had broken off her own conversation with Sam and Rachel, and crossed the room, weaving through the maze of familiar and unfamiliar bodies amid a torrent of welcomes, greetings, and congratulations for nothing in particular. When she'd finally been close enough, she'd flicked Kurt's tail with her finger. He'd stiffened immediately, and wheeled to face his assailant. Upon confronting her, he'd once again covered his unease with a smile.

"Katzchen. How lovely to see you."

Ororo had absorbed the tension with a look, and made an excuse to leave. Kurt's eyes had followed her.

"Enjoying yourself?" Kitty had asked, corralling Kurt's gaze.

"Of course," he'd replied, smile noticeably strained. "You?"

"Why have you been avoiding me?"

"Avoiding you? I don't—"

"Really? That's what you're gonna to go with?"

Smile finally abandoned, Kurt had shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I haven't been avoiding you. Things have just been... busy. And we're on different teams these days, which doesn't help."

"Why not be on all the teams? It works for Logan."

"I must not be as popular as he is."

"But why the XSE?" she'd persisted. "Why not be with us?"

Kurt had offered a half shrug. "Ororo asked me first."

"And you've never been able to say no to her, have you?"

Kurt had just opened his mouth to respond when Logan collapsed against his body, throwing a rough arm around his neck that Kurt had to slouch to accommodate.

"How's my best girl, elf?"

"Fine," Kitty had answered for herself, offering Logan a small, cold smile of greeting while continuing to look directly at Kurt.

Logan had nudged Kurt's ribs with his beer. "She's grown up nice, huh? Still not much to look at, but..."

"I wouldn't say that," Kurt had replied, affixing Kitty with his uncanny golden gaze.

Logan had hesitated, glancing from Kitty, to Kurt, and back again. "I was about to grab a refill, elf, if you wanna join me." He'd squeezed Kurt's shoulder as he'd said, making sure Kurt knew he was doing him a favour, if he wanted it.

"Maybe later," had been Kurt's toneless reply. His gaze had remained locked with hers, though a shiny lock of hair had once again slipped free from behind his ear to obscure his right eye.

Slowly, and a bit reluctantly, Logan had released Kurt, and beat a wordless retreat.

Then, Kurt had raised his glass, and asked, "Can I get you another drink?"

Kitty remembered all of that. She also remembered, several drinks later, when she'd felt Kurt's tail tickling her ankle, heard him start to apologize, and then told him not to…

_It wasn't supposed to happen this way…_

… _but it was worth it._

In the present, Kitty's fist was already closed, ready to rap on Rachel's door. She was stopped by a shadow falling over her shoulder, whose shape she recognized instantly.

"Hello Kitty," Ororo greeted her, beautiful mouth forming a beautiful smile. "I was just looking for you. Do you have a few minutes to chat?"

"Yeah—I mean, yes, of course. What did you—"

"Why don't we go to my room. By the looks of it, the calming atmosphere will do you good."

Before she knew what was happening, Kitty was sitting on an emerald brocade couch in Ororo's quarters, holding a steaming cup of white tea, surrounded by tropical plants and flowers the size of her head that had no right to bloom inside a carriage house.

Kitty was still wearing her uniform, but Ororo had changed into a imperial purple robe, the understated elegance of which somehow made her look both more welcoming and more intimating.

Ororo poured herself into the opposite corner of the couch, and asked, "How is the tea? I grew it myself, you know—right here."

Kitty took a dutiful sip. She didn't particularly like tea, and was quite sure Ororo knew it. "It's great—thanks."

"Good." Ororo crossed one long leg over the other, and leaned back into the cushions. "So tell me—what are your intentions toward my team's most eligible bachelor?"

"You mean Logan?" Kitty joked bravely.

"You _know_ who I mean."

Kitty stared into the depths of her tea. "How did you know?"

"I didn't," said Ororo. "But I saw you leave the party together, and know that Kurt was nursing more than a hangover at our training session today."

Kitty had known Ororo too long, and too intimately, to lie about something so large. "Kurt and I slept together last night. It just... sort of… happened."

"And what is happening now?"

Kitty slid her tea onto the coffee table. She prevaricated for a moment, weighing her urgent need to unburden herself against her fear of sounding ridiculous. Once she made her decision, her words poured forth in a torrent. "I have no idea. It's all my fault going back a decade and now I've screwed everything up so badly he'll probably never talk to me again and I can't bear that. I can't…" a hitch in her throat forced her to trail off.

"Oh Kitten…"

Ororo's imperial presence cracked. Quickly, almost frantically, she reached out to lay a tender but tentative hand on Kitty's arm. It was a compromise gesture, as though she wanted to hug her, but worried it might make everything worse. _Just like a mother_ , thought Kitty.

"You have nothing to apologize for. You don't…" Ororo paused to discharge a silent breath, releasing Kitty's arm and settling back into her corner. When she continued, at least some of her steeliness had returned. "I'm sure you know Kurt well enough by now to realize he's not above behaving like an asshole."

Kitty blinked, surprised by the turn of phrase, in general, and especially from Ororo's stately lips. "Um... I guess?"

"Kurt has many excuses for many different things, but some of them are merely that—excuses. Sometimes, Kurt can have the mistaken impression that he has a monopoly on pain."

Kitty wondered whether Ororo was speaking from experience, and what, exactly, that experience had been. Suddenly, she realized she'd been gone a very long time.

"But what can I do?" Kitty asked.

"That depends on you," Ororo replied. " _You_ spent the night with him."

Kitty had to resist the urge to squirm as she registered Ororo's obvious bitterness, even though it didn't seem to be directed at her. She took another sip of the tea she hated, thankful for something to occupy her unsteady hands.

"Perhaps," Ororo suggested, "you should start by considering whether you had a good time."

… _burying her face in his neck, upwards against the weight of him, desperate to be closer, to feel with every inch of her bare skin the pulse beat of his body under the velvet-coated tautness of his acrobat's frame… shivering as his face ticked her behind her ear, making static at the back of her tongue…. still pulling him always closer, back arching upwards… sweeping her hands down his back to the base of his tail, taking it in her hand and pulling it toward her, squeezing down its length as a low animal moan accompanied an inadvertent press of fangs under her hairline…_

"Kitty?"

"I'm sorry. I was just… thinking."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I'm sorry it's just… Whether it was good or not isn't really—"

"Good sex extends beyond the physical realm," Ororo interrupted. "You know that as well as I."

Kitty studied Ororo's face, wondering at this new side of her, this new frankness that was at once the same and so different from the woman she'd known so many years ago. Ororo's open acknowledgement of Kitty's sexuality was welcome, but strange. Ororo's acknowledgment of her own sexuality was equally strange; her unique combination of sensuality and prudishness had dissolved, somehow, blending into a new, confident honesty. Or at least semi-honesty; Kitty doubted whether she'd ever be privy to the details of what, exactly, Kurt had done to piss Ororo off as thoroughly as he apparently had.

"Have you talked to him?" asked Ororo.

"No," Kitty admitted wearily, dropping her gaze back to her tea. "Scott came to pick me up this morning, and Kurt… Well, he wasn't there by the time I got the door."

"Such are perils of teleporters."

"Tell me about it."

"But perhaps it was for the best, under the circumstances."

"Maybe."

"Talk to him Kitten. And make _him_ talk to _you_. Do not let him charm his way out of it."

Kitty managed a half smile. "He does tend to do that, doesn't he?"

"He _does_ ," Ororo agreed, returning Kitty's smile.

They shared a lengthy, at least semi-comfortable silence before Ororo spoke again. "May I ask how long you've had these feelings?"

It was a question Kitty had been asking herself for months, ever since that fateful kiss. She found her mind drifting to a memory from many years ago, during her early months as an X-Man. They'd been camped out on the beach outside Magneto's recently sacked fortress while various team members performed repairs on the Blackbird. Seeking a moment of solitude in which to ponder her unexpectedly pivotal role in the grand battle that had recently taken place, Kitty had wandered some distance down the beach. She'd been leaning against a palm tree, staring out at the gently rolling waves, when she'd noticed a shadow stretching toward her feet. When she'd followed the shadow to its owner, the sun had glinted in her eyes, so that at first, all she'd seen was a silhouette—the dark outline of an athletic male body that was too lean to belong to Peter, and too graceful to belong to Scott. She'd blinked, and realized—it was Kurt, wearing nothing but a pair of black swim briefs.

He'd held out a bottle of water in his two-fingered hand. "I thought you might be thirsty. Not very exotic, but it gets the job done."

Kitty had looked past the water bottle, eyes lingering on Kurt's velvet-coated midsection, sleek fur shiny with sweat, especially around the darker shadows of his abs and the almost-black, impossibly soft crevice of his belly button.

In the present, Kitty said, "It's because he doesn't see it, isn't it? He really... he has no idea."

Ororo cocked a silver eyebrow. "I wouldn't say _that_."

Kitty thought about the party—about Kurt's ankle-tickling tail, his very deep v-neck shirt, and his choice to wear a suit that so closely mimicked the color of his own fur. Those choices did seem like they must be deliberate.

Her tea was nearly cold, but she held it tightly anyway, clinging to the idea of its warmth. After a long moment, she asked, "How do you know the difference between loving someone, and… well... _loving_ someone?"

Ororo replied immediately, as though it were the simplest question in the world. "Because you want to have sex with them."

Kitty started to laugh, but the sound caught in her throat, garbled by what she belatedly recognized as a stronger wave of tears. This time, Ororo didn't hesitate. Before a single tear could fall, Kitty was folded into Ororo's arms, feeling very small, but also very safe.

"Talk to him," Ororo urged, softly, against Kitty's ear.

"I will," Kitty promised. "Really."

For a while, Kitty let herself linger in Ororo's protective aura. She smelled like lavender, and her skin was at least as soft as the silk that clothed it.

When she finally moved to disentangle herself, Ororo released her quickly, averting her gaze to flick a drop of moisture from the corner of her eye.

"Good," said the storm goddess. "Because if Kurt performs as miserably in tomorrow's training session, I am holding _you_ responsible."

Kitty did manage to snort at that, proud of the disorder she'd apparently wrought on Kurt's normally graceful body. "Understood."


	3. Afternoon: Kurt

**Chapter 3: Afternoon: Kurt**

_This was a mistake._

Kurt forced himself to keep thinking it, always accompanied by a vivid replay of Kitty's expression in bed that morning, when she'd first looked down at him smiling up at her. He told himself her reaction couldn't possibly be reminding him of past traumas. Surely, he wasn't that juvenile; after everything he and Kitty had been through over the past decade, he must know her better than that. Besides, she was the one who'd started it; it was _her_ who'd kissed _him,_ and her who'd sought him out at the party the night before, when he'd been perfectly happy to continue avoiding her. Well, not _happy_ , exactly. But avoiding her had certainly made him feel better than he did at the moment. Besides his splitting headache, his chest felt weirdly hollow, and all his normally acute reflexes were frustratingly unresponsive. Everything was a split second too slow, or a tinge too tight. Which was a problem, because Logan was never slow.

For the past two minutes, Kurt had been avoiding Logan's relentless attacks by increasingly narrow margins. Yet even as he barely feinted in time to avoid a lightning-quick right-handed slash, the danger barely registered. He was far too preoccupied by his internal battle, pitting _this was a mistake_ against an equally certain, and much more dangerous conviction: _but I would do it again._

As he went through the motions of defending himself, Kurt's mind drifted, recalling the events that had led to his waking up naked wrapped around an equally naked Kitty Pryde.

The first time he'd seen Kitty after her return to the X-Men had been an accident. He'd been so surprised to run into her on the stairs he'd almost run into her literally, staggering backwards with only his preturnatural balance to save him. She'd been slouching under the weight of two enormous suitcases, wearing track pants and a ragged sweater, her thick auburn hair barely held in check by a beleaguered elastic. In other words, she looked exactly like herself. Which meant she also looked beautiful—perfect in her defining imperfection. Kurt had experienced an almost overwhelming desire to tell her so, but hadn't. Instead, he'd smiled through a platonic greeting, and quickly picked up her bags to keep his hands busy and his body off-limits. At the time, it had seemed like the only thing he _could_ do. It was either that, or pull Kitty into his arms and show her, in no uncertain terms, how desperately he suddenly realized he'd missed her. And that was decidedly impossible.

He hadn't seen her again until the party three days later. There, she'd once again surprised him, but on purpose, doing something she knew he hated: touching his tail without permission. Yet he'd promptly forgiven the manner of her greeting upon being confronted with her face—and her body. Kitty had looked beautiful in her sweatpants, but it was beyond his power to describe how she'd looked in her clinging scarlet one-shoulder cocktail dress, the heavy waves of her loose hair spilling recklessly over her bare shoulders. Seeing her on the stairs had been like wading into a cherished memory. Seeing her at the party had been more akin to a revelation. He'd never seen Kitty look so touchable, so womanly, so _grown-up_.

His alcohol-warm skin had responded almost immediately to the proximity of her body, her closeness conjuring a physical memory he'd spent much of the past year trying to forget: Kitty's tongue searching for his while her sure hands swept through his damp fur, her stomach hot and firm against his. He'd tried even harder to forget his reaction to her surprise kiss: confusion, followed by excitement and a definite willingness to surrender to her ministrations, and explore to what degree she'd surrender to his.

Even before the kiss, his relationship with Kitty had been complicated. She was better than almost anyone else at bringing out both the best and the worst in his nature. During their Excalibur days, her bravery, optimism, and faith had helped him become the leader he'd never believed he could be. Yet she'd also inspired him to moments of cruelty. Long ago, after Kitty has wrecked the Danger Room and half the Mansion fending off the demon D'Spayre, Kurt had sided with Logan to blame and humiliate her, capitalizing on her youthful insecurity to take verbal revenge for things that could be forgiven, but never forgotten. What stuck with him from the incident was his certainly that some part of him had wanted to hurt her. It wasn't something he was used to feeling. He wasn't the type of person who wished harm on his friends. Or at least, he liked to think he wasn't

Kurt wanted—needed—to believe he'd moved past such feelings. Yet seeing Kitty again, being near her again, made old wounds fresh. It also made new ideas more possible. When he'd first seen her at the party, he'd been almost angry at the intrusion of her warm, touchable presence. One moment, he'd been enjoying the pressure of Ororo's fingers on his neck. The next, he'd been transfixed by the play of the light in Kitty's curls, unable to think about anything besides how the weight of them would feel sliding across his cheek, knowing it would feel like heaven.

_This was a mistake…_

… _But I would do it again…_

Going through the motions was catching up with him. Even Kurt's normal speed and agility had never been a match for Logan's hypersenses and wealth of experience; compromised as he was, even holding his own was hopeless. And so, what should have been a smooth duck and spin under Logan's roundhouse kick ended with his chest colliding with an adamantium-enforced forearm.

Kurt coughed on the pain as he hit the mat hard, but the familiar "SNIKT" of Logan's claws had him back on his feet in a hurry. He avoided the first swipe, and blocked the second, but Logan anticipated his counter-move, and took his feet out from under him. Kurt managed a half-graceful somersault that bought him another second's reprieve before Logan was once again bearing down on him, teeth gnashing, claws flashing. Kurt could have teleported—probably _should_ have teleported—but didn't. He knew it was foolish to trust Logan, but he had to, because that's what friends do.

Logan's claws froze an inch from Kurt's jugular. Flat on his back with the X-Men's most fearsome warrior looming over him, Kurt blinked slowly, hoping he looked more calm than he felt; having razor sharp adamantium blades at his throat wasn't exactly new, but it wasn't exactly comfortable, either. Finally, Logan sheathed his claws, and extended a hand.

"I know you're hungover," he growled, "but this is ridiculous."

"I know, I'm sorry," Kurt offered, wincing as Logan hauled him roughly to his feet. "Maybe we should call it a day."

"Might as well," Logan assented, drawing back his mask to mop the sweat off his face. "You're not much good to me like this. Want a beer?"

"No, but I'll watch you have one."

"Garage?"

Kurt nodded, and in two "BAMFs," they arrived. Logan tossed his sweat towel aside and headed for the fridge. "You sure you don't want one?"

"You really need to ask? After what happened back there?"

Logan shrugged, popping his cap with his claw. "I usually fight better with a few drinks in me."

"Another one of _your_ particular quirks, I assure you."

"Suit yourself."

Logan plopped himself down on the tool bench next to his Harley, while Kurt cleared a spot on the counter. He'd sat there often, watching Logan work on various bikes, trucks, and cars, across many years, throughout many crises. Kurt was at least as good a mechanic as Logan, but the work wasn't the point; the point was the time, and the company.

Logan began the conversation with customary bluntness. "So what's eating you, and what does it have to do with Kitty?"

Kurt immediately regretted getting up from the mat. Surviving Logan's claws was clearly going to be easier than surviving the present conversation. "How did you…"

"Didn't," Logan replied. "But I do now."

Kurt released a breath, and rubbed his neck, cursing himself for being so easily duped. "Do you always need to have the upper hand?"

"Now who's askin' stupid questions?"

Kurt dropped his gaze to his white-booted feet. "It began last year. I never told you, because... Well, because I wanted to believe it wasn't important."

"This sounds bad."

"It's not _bad_ , it's... When I visited Kitty last year she... kissed me."

"You guys have been close for—"

" _Not_ like that," Kurt interrupted. "I mean she _kissed_ me."

Logan took a long drag on his beer. "That all?"

"Then it was. I left the next morning, and didn't seen her again until three days ago."

"Did you talk about it, or..."

"We tried but... I didn't know what to say. I mean, it's _Kitty_. I didn't..."

"You're not still weird about—"

"No. I mean... I didn't think so."

"But...?"

"Last night we..." Kurt's tail slashed nervously where it dangled over the counter. "I slept with Kitty last night."

Kurt looked up in time to see Logan's jaw clench, and release.

"That explains why she didn't wake up for training," he said at last.

"I was there when Scott came to get her," Kurt confirmed. "Really, it was a relief. Things were... not great this morning."

"For you, or for her?"

"I don't know. Both."

"Was this just a drunk thing?"

"Maybe. No. I... I don't know."

"You're just full of answers, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry," Kurt sighed. "Today is today. But last night, it felt..."

… _Kurt didn't realize the tip of his tail was brushing her bare ankle until he noticed her notice it, which suddenly made him realize he'd been doing it on purpose. That was also when he realized he'd had too much to drink._

_"I'm—"_

_"Don't be."_

_And that was when he knew he was in over his head…_

"Elf?"

"Anyway, I was drunk, but I wasn't _that_ drunk."

"Clearly."

Kurt opened and closed his fists inside his white gloves, wishing they were back in the gym. "Really, you're not helping."

Logan snorted. "Sorry."

Kurt pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his forearms around his legs, tail curling up around his feet. "You know what it's like. Our relationship is... complicated. Things have been fine... good... _great_ between us for years now. I really thought I'd gotten over the past. But when she kissed me..."

Kurt trailed off, half-finished thoughts dissipating into a cavernous silence. When he finally continued, his voice sounded small and hollow, even to his own ears. "A year ago, I ran away because I didn't trust her desire. Now, I'm wondering if I can trust my own."

"What do you mean? 'Cause of your friendship, or..."

Kurt shook his head gravely. "It's not that. We have this _history_ together. You know how it was, all those years ago. How the rest of you accepted me, but Kitty was... So now, I'm worried _—_ what if I slept with her, not just because I _wanted_ to, but also... to prove that I _could_?"

Logan was silent. When Kurt looked at him, he was staring down at his beer, disturbingly still.

"Logan?"

"Get out." Kurt easily recognized the menace in the low rumble of Logan's voice; it wasn't a tone he used with his friends.

Kurt lowered his knees and waited three heartbeats for a punchline that never came. "What did you—"

"You heard me."

"I don't believe this. After all the times I've—"

"That girl's like a daughter to me, Kurt."

Kurt's jumped to his feet, anger flaring. "And what do you think she is to—" He stopped himself just short of finishing his damning sentence, and swallowed hard, anger redirected against himself.

Finally, Logan looked up at him, grey eyes a mask of dispassion. "You know, you look like your mom when you're angry."

Kurt had to consciously resist the urge to step back, Logan's words hitting his face like a slap. "Even for you that's—"

"If the shoe fits."

"And I guess you would know," Kurt returned. "So, you sleep with my mother and I sleep with your 'daughter'—doesn't that make us even?"

"That was before I knew you."

"That's comforting. How many years?"

"Don't go there."

"Why?"

"I'm not your father, Kurt."

Kurt folded his arms over his chest. "You could have fooled me."

Their eyes locked for several long, tense seconds, air crackling with the potent combination of anger and hurt that only two people who know each other like family can successfully stoke.

Logan was the first to back down. "Fine. Point taken. But seriously, Kurt—what the _fuck_ did you think you were doing?"

Kurt sighed, uncrossing his arms to drop his shoulder wearily against the wall. "I don't know. All I know is, things are different, now. She's different. _I'm_ different. Last night was so…"

_...Kitty pulling him roughly forward with the same motion that slammed the door closed, attacking his shirt before looping her hands under his belt… the warm collision with her pelvis as he clumsily shucked off her dress's single strap… pinning her against the wall with the weight of his body, wanting, needing, to feel his skin touching every inch of hers, especially the yielding softness of her breasts, the lace trim of her bra rubbing maddeningly against his fur… tongue deep into her mouth, hands full of her neck and her hip, then sliding under her thighs, naked under what was left of her clinging dress... lifting her legs around his hips and her body pouring into his like water..._

In the present, Kurt watched the tip of his tail dancing between his feet. "Do you remember when she joined us? She was thirteen and looked younger."

"But girls become women," Logan pointed out.

"She's 22, now. I'm 29."

Logan snorted. "You're _both_ children."

Despite everything, Kurt found a grin tugging at his lips. "Whatever you say, old man."

"You don't honestly think—"

" _God_ , no. Do _you_?"

"To be honest, I hadn't really thought about it."

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Really? How could you _not_? Everyone's parentage is one ironic twist after another around here."

"You don't _look_ like me."

"Logan—I don't look like _anybody_."

"Except—"

"One reminder is enough for today, I think."

Logan forced down the last of his beer. "Wish there were enough of these to erase this conversation from my mind."

"The feeling's mutual, believe me."

Logan discarded his empty bottle and leaned forward on his thighs. "You know, there's a lot from my life I don't remember. And I don't get to choose. Some things are crystal clear, and others… Most of the time, you forget the stuff you want to remember, and remember the stuff you'd rather forget. But it gets me thinking—if you had a choice, if you could choose what you remember, and what gets lost…"

Kurt considered the question. "You're asking _—_ would I choose to forget last night?"

"Your words."

Kurt took his time responding. He looked sideways, and then up, then down again, golden eyes meeting Logan's grey ones.

"No," he said finally, truthfully.

"Then you'd better talk to her."

"Ja, I know. I just hope she'll want to talk to _me_."

"You don't know 'til you try. And it's a small place when it comes to avoiding someone 24 hours a day, 203 world-ending crises a year."

Kurt nodded, and prepared to make his exit.

Logan's voice stopped him. "And Kurt? Whatever happens, don't forget _—_ I'm still pissed at you."

Kurt eyed him for a moment, then "BAMF-ed" safely away, not looking forward to the next time Logan's claws closed in on his jugular.


	4. Evening

**Chapter 4: Evening**

Kitty left Ororo's quarters with a light heart that grew heavier the closer she approached her own. Once inside, all her resolutions seemed ludicrous, her conversation with Ororo feeling just as dreamlike as the physical memories that been overtaking her at intervals throughout the day.

_...hands knotted deep in his hair... thigh burning where it collided with the lamp, replaced with a full-body shiver as a fang glanced off her right nipple..._

Kitty dropped into her desk chair, considering her ghostly reflection in her black screen of her laptop. Back in her old room, back in her old uniform, back in her old life—in some ways, it felt as though she'd never left. Suddenly, she had a discomforting feeling that perhaps time hadn't passed at all—that perhaps she was still 13, and Kurt a worldly seeming 20, an obscure presence compared to the fire of her heart, 18-year-old Peter Rasputin. Kitty's eyes dropped to the photo next to her laptop. It the photo, Peter's blue-grey eyes twinkled above a faint, serious smile. Kitty knew she'd never stop missing him. But over time, his loss had become a permanent scar rather than an open wound, one she'd grown used to living with.

The shuffle of leathery wings signaled Lockheed descending from the bookshelf. He landed on her desk next to the photo of Peter. His beady eyes examined the photo, then gazed up at her, conveying, as always, a disconcerting sentience.

"I know you miss him," said Kitty. "He liked you, too. But he's gone now. You know that."

She tickled Lockheed's chin as she looked past the photo of Peter, to another one. It was a group shot of her with the X-Men, in uniform, pre-Excalibur. Peter was holding Kitty atop his broad armored shoulder, her face beaming with proud excitement and just a hint of teenage nerves. Peter's other hand was resting companionably on Kurt's much lower shoulder. For a long moment, Kitty studied that hand. There was something about the way Peter's large silver fingers dwarfed Kurt's lean muscles. The gesture wasn't just companionable; it was almost paternalistic or, worse, like an owner with a beloved pet. It wasn't malicious, or even conscious; it just _was_. Or at least, it had been. Back then, her single-minded focus on Peter's body had prevented her from seeing what should have been the obvious reality of Kurt's manhood, not to mention his beauty, which was different from Peter's, but no less striking.

Her blindness hadn't been completely her own fault. In those early days, Kurt had often played the fool, cultivating laughter to guard against the chance of being feared. He'd tried to be everyone's best friend, and had succeeded; Kurt had been the one member of the team no one was ever mad at, who never complained, who never asked for anything besides being liked. During their Excalibur years, he'd changed. Somehow, losing everything—including, for a time, his teleportation powers—had made him more confident, both in his abilities, and in himself. He'd carried himself differently during those years—taller, stronger, bolder. And, she admitted now, sexier. Back then, Kitty hadn't spent much time considering what Meggan might have seen in Kurt, besides, of course, a shoulder to cry on. Now that she was intimately familiar with Kurt's charms, she only wondered how Meggan had managed to resist him for so long.

Kitty turned her attention to Lockheed, and asked, "But you like Kurt, don't you?"

Lockheed's range of expressions was limited, but she was sure his beady eyes got just a tiny bit wider.

"Yes, _that_ Kurt."

Lockheed merely stared.

"Oh c'mon," she cajoled. "After all the times he's pulled your far from the fire? I know he says he doesn't like 'pets' but that's only because…"

She was interrupted by a knock on the door. She didn't need to wonder who is was; she'd know those knuckles anywhere.

When she met Kurt at the door, he was, like her, still wearing his uniform, but topped with a red Xavier Academy hooded sweatshirt under a black leather bomber jacket. He held out her own cropped pea coat and grey cashmere scarf.

"You'll need these," he said simply.

Wordlessly, she slipped on her jacket and made two loose coils of scarf around her neck. She clenched her teeth as she accepted Kurt's white-gloved hand, as she always did when anticipating a teleport. Jaunting would be fun if it didn't smell terrible and make her stomach feel like it had been flipped inside out. But sometimes, it was a necessary evil—like when they needed to outpace a pack of Warwolves, or when Kurt wanted to show her something, and it was the fastest way to get there.

They materialized outside, about half a mile down the low stone wall that ran along the borders of the Mansion's expansive grounds. It was one of those evenings that perfectly captured the peace and mournfulness of fall in the northeast. The orange sun was large and fuzzy over the distant horizon, and the cool wind whistled through the long grass beyond the fence and rattled the dry leaves still clinging to the half-naked oaks and maples.

Kurt turned to her, wind whipping the thick waves of his blue-black hair around his face. The hollows of his cheeks were slipping in and out of shadow in the twilight, making his golden eyes burn especially bright. "Walk with me?"

Kitty nodded, thrusting her bare hands into her pockets.

They walked until they arrived at a section of wall decorated with loosely arranged triangular rocks, the result of many decades of carefree labor by countless other walkers on countless other nights, mornings, afternoons.

She sensed Kurt pause, and turned to watch him him do a ridiculously Kurt thing. Without warning, he vaulted himself up onto the wall, from a one-handed hand-stand into a forward flip that ended with his unique feet balancing precariously, yet effortlessly, on the narrow, sharp edges of the loose rocks.

"That all you've got?" Kitty taunted.

"Tough crowd," Kurt quipped back. He paused again—for dramatic effect—before performing a gold medal-worthy back-flip, achieving full-extension midair before alighting again on the rocks, which rattled but stayed put under his feet. Kurt completed his performance with a dramatic bow to his lonely audience, who merely shrugged.

"I'm sure that _would_ be impressive," she said. "But I know this guy—Nightcrawler—who does stuff like that all the time. Maybe you've heard of him?"

Kurt performed another perfect somersault to join her back on the ground. "The name rings a bell."

"But I don't think you brought me out here to show off your new circus act."

"No."

"Well, then..."

"I wanted to talk."

"About what? Sports? Politics? The weather?"

"You're really not going to make this easy, are you?"

"Should I?"

Kurt didn't answer, his face unreadable in the dark. Kitty twisted her hands in her pockets, remembering the hurt and anger of the year before, when she'd woken up to discover he'd left without saying goodbye.

"You know," she began after a moment, "I'm not trying to be a bitch. Honestly. Except that I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel. Part of me feels like I should be angry, and the other part of me feels like I should be apologizing for something. Which just makes me angrier."

"I know what you mean," Kurt sighed. "Except I don't feel angry. More... guilty. And sorry. Which makes me feel guiltier. I... I am sorry, Katzchen. For whatever that's worth."

"You don't have to... Sorry for what? For sleeping with me?"

"I... no..." Kurt fumbled. "Okay, yes, a little."

"I'm an _adult_ , Kurt. I can make my own—"

"I know. I know that I just—"

"Just what? Just had Logan tell you that I'm a delicate flower and that you're an evil monster for defiling me?"

Kurt looked away awkwardly.

"Oh my God..." she said, a low chuckle rising in her throat, despite herself. "Did that actually _happen_?"

"It's not important," he mumbled, still avoiding her eyes.

"You do know that I... I definitely _wanted_ what we did. And I mean, you... Well, you certainly _seemed_ like you..." She trailed off, unnerved by Kurt's continued silence.

"I mean," she began again. "You _did_ want to... didn't you?"

Kurt hesitated for another long, painful moment. When he finally looked up, Kitty didn't need to see his pupils to feel the heat of his gaze.

"With all my heart," he said earnestly.

Kitty stood riveted for long seconds in the thrall of his golden gaze.

"I'm sorry. Did I—"

"No," she interrupted quickly, finally dropping her own gaze. "No, I just..."

She felt the heat of his body behind her before he laid a cautious hand of her shoulder, squeezing tenderly with his thumb and large, strong fingers. Kitty scrunched her eyes shut, heartsick at the irony of his combined closeness and distance. After a moment, she shrugged herself out of his grip and put several decisive steps between them.

"I can't... I need to..." A thick strand of hair escaped her ponytail, and she took her time tying it back. "Why did you leave that night Kurt? Why... after you _promised_..."

"I... I couldn't stay."

"So you just... left? I mean, what the hell, Kurt! What world are you living in that you thought that was be a good idea?"

Kurt ran a frustrated hand through his own blowing hair. "I knew it was a bad idea. I _knew_. But there wasn't... I didn't know what else to do!"

"I can think of at least a _million_ things that would have been better than—"

"I was scared, okay?" he interjected. "I was... God, Katzchen, I was _terrified_."

"Of _what_ , Kurt?" she pleaded, closing some of the distance between them. " _Why_ is this so scary to you?"

"I..." Kurt's lips twitched with unspoken words before he finally shook his head to forestall the effort, pivoting away from her again. "You see, I left precisely so we would not have to have this conversation."

"This isn't a conversation!" she shouted at his retreating back. "It's an argument!"

"Fine!" he returned, eyes burning as he wheeled to face her. "You want the truth? I'm not over it—how things were between us when we first met. I've _never_ been over it. And I don't know how to deal with it except to know I'm happier _not_ dealing with it. Is that it? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Yes!" Kitty shot back. "Now we're getting finally _getting_ somewhere."

Kurt made an exasperated sound as he backed away again, turning his attention to the wall. Slowly, but surely, his angry silence grew thoughtful, marked by his tail calming itself into low, sweeping curves.

"Talk to me, Kurt," she pleaded. "Please."

"What do you want me to say?" he asked wearily.

"Tell me... about Florida."

Kurt's tail missed a beat. "What do you know about—"

"Nothing," she lied. "That is, I don't know _much_..."

Kurt shook his head. "There's nothing to tell. It was... a long time ago. Why do you—"

"Because I'm trying to understand. To me you're so..." she trailed off trying to decide how to convey to the master of self-deprecation exactly how godlike he'd often appeared to her. "I just can't imagine you ever being that helpless," she finished lamely.

Kurt turned to her. Despite his shadowed face, his skepticism was obvious. "You're sure you're not confusing me with someone else? Logan, perhaps? Or maybe Ororo?"

"Kurt—I'm being serious."

"Serious. Sure."

Kitty fell silent, humbled and annoyed.

Finally, Kurt seemed to acknowledge his unfairness. "I won't tell you about Florida. Maybe someday, but not now. But I will tell you about something else."

He walked past her to the oak tree that arched its rattling limbs over the wall. He leaned back against its trunk, hands buried deep in his pockets. Kitty joined him there, dropping her shoulder lightly against his.

"I was twelve when I first teleported," he began. "I was in the middle of practicing a trapeze maneuver, and I missed the bar. Not a big deal, there was a net to catch me. But instead of falling, I found myself back on the platform. I sat there, frozen, for who knows how long, wondering if it had really happened, or if I was going insane. And, of course, debating whether I dared risk trying to repeat it. Finally, I made my choice. I concentrated on a spot on the ground below, and before I knew it, I was there, heart hammering, stomach churning, but still—I'd done it. I'd repeated it, so I knew I wasn't crazy."

"I know the feeling," she lamented. "What happened next?"

"I didn't tell anyone else for weeks," Kurt continued. "I practiced in secret, experimenting, testing my limitations. When I finally told Jimaine, she wanted to know why I'd waited so long to tell her. I realized then that I'd been afraid. She and my mother—really, no one at the circus—had ever made me feel like an outsider, despite everything. Yet with this new development... What if there were more changes? It was the first time in my life that I did worry there might be some doubt about my humanity. My appearance was one thing. But teleporting? It was like magic, magic I could do just by thinking about it. Surely, nothing human could do _that_."

Kitty reached into his pocket and drew out his hand, curling her four pink fingers around his two blue ones, concealed inside his white gloves.

"It was a long time ago," said Kurt, staring down at their joined hands. "It really doesn't matter."

"Then why are we talking about it?"

"Because you asked, and I..." his fingers opened and closed around hers. "And I hate it. You have no idea how I hate… _talking_ about these things. I _hate_ feeling sorry for myself. And yet, when I start looking at my life, from being tossed over a cliff by my mother on downwards…"

"You don't think we all feel like that?"

"Ja. But not the same way I do."

Kitty remembered Ororo's warning about Kurt believing he had a monopoly on pain. And yet, he wasn't wrong. She'd had 12 years of thinking she was normal. Kurt had never had that. His difference had always been obvious, and inescapable.

"It's hard to believe," he said, "But when I first met the Professor, one of the first things I asked was if he could make me 'normal.'"

"Why would you want..." Kitty stopped herself, realizing that she'd spoken without thinking. "I'm sorry, I..."

"No," he assured her, smiling softly. "It's okay. It was a stupid question, and a stupid desire. The Professor told me so as well. But when an angry mob is ready to drive a stake through your heart, your mind tends to play tricks on you."

"I just can't imagine your wanting that," she said. "To be—what? Not a mutant? Or just not to look like one?"

"I don't know. There was a part of me, at the time, that would have given up all my gifts to be able to go home, to hold Jimaine in my arms, and tell her everything was all right, that it would be all right from now on. To be able to _protect_ her rather than be the cause of her danger."

"And now?" she asked.

"Now I'm here," he replied. "With you."

Kitty swallowed hard, releasing his hand to swipe the back of her hand under her nose.

"Katzchen...?"

"I'm fine," she managed. "I'm just… a little cold."

Kurt reached up to slide his arm around her shoulders, and she surrendered gratefully into his body, settling her cheek against his neck. Together, they watched the sun become a thin strip of orange on the horizon.

"We should go back," Kurt observed.

"Yeah," she agreed.

"The fast way, or..."

"If I have to."

"It's really not that bad."

Kitty frowned up at him. "If you like feeling like you're about to lose a week's worth of lunches."

"You're exaggerating," Kurt scoffed.

"Am I?"

"It's also really _fun_ , though."

"I'm sure I've said this before, but you have a weird idea of 'fun.'"

When Kurt grinned, he looked especially devilish, fanged teeth and golden eyes glowing brightly in the dark. "I'll take that as a compliment. Hang on tight."

Kitty sucked in a breath of air that she released as a shriek of surprise when she materialized 100 feet in the air with no ground beneath her feet. Or at least, that's what it seemed like; in fact, they were standing atop the narrow opening of one of the mansion's several unused chimneys.

As soon as she regained enough of her balance, Kitty spun and punched Kurt at least half-seriously in the chest.

"Asshole!" she hissed. "Seriously!"

Kurt merely smiled. "Even if I _weren't_ here to protect you, you're perfectly capable of handling yourself."

"That's not the point!"

"Now you're just looking for reasons to complain," he admonished. "You _should_ be thanking me."

"Thanking…"

Kitty trailed off as she followed his gaze and the prompting of his body to look out across the grounds, where the sun's last hurrah lit up the field with a rich orange fire. Each blade of grass was like a leaping flame, clinging to life with all the desperation of a wounded animal whose soul burned brightest in the moment before the end of everything. Kitty leaned back into Kurt's arms, his heart along her spine grounding her against infinity. And then suddenly, it was over. The light snuffed out, and dark descended, like a blanket thrown over the world.

"Okay," Kitty breathed. "I forgive you."

She closed her eyes as they teleported again, this time back into her room. Once they were there, they were reluctant to part. She remained within the cage of his arms, still feeling his heart against her back.

"What now?" he finally whispered against her ear.

With a flicker of anxiety, Kitty realized they hadn't solved anything. All she knew for sure was that she felt cold, and all of Kurt's clothing was keeping her from the preferable warmth of his naked, indigo fur.

She spun in his arms to face him, but didn't feel up to meeting his gaze. Instead, she slid her arms down his back and dropped her forehead against his. Their heads made a roof over their uniformed bodies, bodies that were at once too familiar, and all too different.

At last, she said, "There's so much I need to know. I year ago—a _day_ ago—I thought I knew you so well."

"So ask," he said softly, his hands warm in the small of her back.

"When did you first make love?"

"You mean have sex?"

"You know what I mean."

"By the lake. With Jimaine. I was sixteen. You?"

"With Peter. In my bedroom. Fifteen."

She felt his tail brush the back of her thigh, making a loose, winding curve around her leg.

"Do you tell it to do that, or does it just…"

She felt Kurt's cheek twitch with a smile. "If you had a tail, you'd know what a foolish question that is."

"But…"

"It's like any other body part. It just… works."

"What does it… feel like?"

"Feel like?" he echoed.

"When you touch things? Is it like hands, or…"

Kurt silenced her with a kiss—tentative, but tender, his cheek almost ticklish against her own.

Fighting her way through a fog, Kitty managed to quip, "You're just trying to shut me up."

Kurt's breath was warm on her cheek when he replied, "Sometimes, you learn better by doing."

She stopped his next ticklish sweep of her lips with a proper kiss, prying open his mouth to search out his tongue. Kurt responded in kind, hands massaging her hips. When her tongue swept the edge of a fang, her sharp inhale caused Kurt to pull back.

He didn't get far. Kitty tightened her grip on the unstable molecule spandex under his jacket, and jerked his hips close. "Don't you _dare_ stop."

The same fang flashed in his lopsided smile. "Wouldn't dream of it."

The next kiss left them breathless, and tugging at each other's clothes. They quickly stripped down to their spandex, hands re-learning the hard shapes of muscles they knew so well by sight. Kitty reeled with giddiness at the the thought of how many times she'd watched Kurt's lean body in action, and never touched it, never let herself think about touching it. If she'd known it would be like this, his perfectly human maleness confirmed by her hands and hips while the rough-soft friction of his velvety cheek confirmed his difference, his realness, his Kurt-ness, she never could have waited.

"Wait."

Kitty almost swore when Kurt caught her hands, and put a step between them.

"What..." she panted. "What did I—"

"Nothing, nothing... It's just... Last night was so… I want to do this slowly. I want us to be sure."

Kitty's thudding heart lurched in her chest. She stared at the X on his chest as she chewed on her cheek, suddenly very aware of having to concentrate on staying entirely solid. It was easier in the moment, better when she didn't have to think, and could just feel, and do, and want.

"I don't..."

"Shhh…" Kurt laid a single, unique finger against her lips. "Relax."

Kitty closed her eyes, and tried, inhaling deeply as Kurt's fingers made their way across her cheekbone, and up, into her hair. Slowly, with a delicacy she wouldn't have thought his hands capable of, he loosened the elastic holding her ponytail, and slid it out. He caressed her auburn waves as they spilled over her cheeks and shoulders, thumb ghosting over her lips as he tucked an unruly strand behind her ear. Kitty kept her eyes shut, and focused on her breathing. She'd been ready for an argument, just as she'd longed to re-experience the weight of his velvet body sliding against hers. But this was different, and definitely scarier. When Kurt's unique fingers trailed down her neck, it was also entirely, skin tinglingly wonderful.

Kurt's right hand paused at the base of her throat, touching the zipper of her uniform.

"May I?"

"I… yes…" Kitty faltered, wishing she sounded as confident as she wanted to be.

Taking the zipper between his finger and thumb, Kurt slid it slowly down the front of her body. When he reached her navel, he stopped, waiting. Kitty opened her eyes to look down at herself, at the unsubstantial curves of her breasts, her nipples clinging to the edges of her uniform, and at her tight, flat stomach. Mostly, though, she looked at Kurt's hands, thinking about how much she liked the look on them there, touching her bare skin. When she finally looked up, the pucker of Kurt's eyebrows brought her back to herself, reminding her that it was new for him, too.

Falling back into old patterns, she quipped, "How is it sober?"

"Beautiful."

Kitty blushed, humbled by his simple, honest answer. "But is it also a bit—"

"Scary?" Kurt supplied.

"Yes."

"Maybe if we even the score."

Kurt released her body, and stepped back, palms open.

With convincing courage, Kitty reached for his zipper. Mindful of his fur, she very carefully peeled his uniform open, exposing a triangular swath of the lean indigo muscles she knew so well, yet didn't. For a moment, she studied him. There were so many memories tied up in that body, including both fantasies and nightmares. They bled into each other, creating something more than a man, an idea that was not Kurt, that had nothing to do with the reality of the body before her, chest rising and falling a little too quickly in response to the same mixture of fear and excitement currently gripping her own heart, mind, and gut. And that's when all the memories, fantasies, and nightmares dissolved, becoming only Kurt, only the man standing before her, who was willing to honestly confront all those things, all the mistakes and missteps of a shared past and the darkness of his own heart, to be there, together, with her.

Kitty laid her palms on his chest. Kurt breathed deliberately under her touch, but didn't move, letting her lead the way. So she did, smoothing her hands up his chest, against the subtle, fine grain of his fur, then down again, enjoying the play of soft and hard and especially the small sound she coaxed from Kurt's throat when her fingernails got involved, circling the small, smooth patch around his blue-black nipple. When she tired of teasing him, she continued to his shoulders. There, she worked her hands under the remaining spandex, and then worked the spandex down his arms, until his upper half was free, his uniform barely clinging to his narrow indigo hips.

"Well?" he asked softly. "How is it sober?"

Her reply was easy. "Beautiful."

There was no way to know if Kurt blushed, but he did swallow, and shift his weight. "But is it also a bit—"

"No," she interrupted. "Not now. Not ever again."

That definitely humbled him. He started to drop his gaze, but Kitty didn't let him. Just as she'd done a year ago, she reached up, seized the back of his neck, and pulled his lips down to hers. But unlike a year ago, Kurt didn't back out of her embrace. Instead, he welcomed her tongue and pressed forward into her hips, tail finally joining his hands around her waist.

Long, deep kisses gave way to rougher, more frantic ones, and a scramble to peel off the rest of their uniforms. When they were finally free, it was almost overwhelming. Kitty's second experience of the primal joy of Kurt's body, every inch of his acrobat's frame covered with the same sleek velvet fur, left her breathless, and desperate, wanting—needing—to feel all of that fur sliding and rubbing against against every inch of her own bare skin. Kurt seemed to agree. Most men only had hands to work with. Kurt had hands especially suited to making a sure grip, and a tail capable of things no hands could do. Not to mention his dexterous feet, which curled around her thighs and ankles, tangling her closer still.

Between kisses, Kitty managed, "Last night we didn't... are there any... ground rules you wanna..."

Mumbling against her lips, Kurt replied, "Hands off my tail."

"Really?"

She felt Kurt's smile twitch against her cheek. "No."

Kitty punished him by knocking him back against the dresser. Kurt grunted, but was still smiling through his kisses as he ducked his face into her hair, fangs grazing her jaw. She hissed as she twisted her pelvis into his hips, into his need, throwing one thigh and then the other another around his waist. Kurt shifted to catch her glutes, lifting her with his hands and tail as she rained kisses on his face and scratched her fingernails through his hair to his back.

Kurt carried her forward, toward the bed, and then spun them, so that when they fell against the mattress, she landed hard on his chest. He groaned into her mouth as she stroked her skin up his fur, tail tightening around her waist. Kitty's own sounds were increasingly needful. She badly wanted to flip them, to have his weight on top of her, fur grinding against her breasts. So, she planted a foot on the floor, seized his tail, and pulled.

Kurt made another, different sound as he jerked up to meet her, but didn't quite follow her down. Kitty found herself sitting upright in Kurt's lap with his tail between her shoulder blades and his lips on her neck, all of her squeezed tight around all of him. Then, something wonderful happened. Everything stopped—all her doubts, and her memories, and her plans for the future. There was only her, and Kurt, and the divine feeling of being exactly where she was supposed to be. She lost herself clutching the impossibly hard and soft contours of Kurt's neck and shoulders as firmly as she'd ever clutched anything, held just as firmly by a pair of hands and two coils of a tail that could only belong to one perfect person, who she didn't deserve, but must have, because he was there—with her, in her.

Later, Kitty lay sprawled across Kurt's chest, tracing delicate patterns in his fur, stupefied by the beautiful synchronicity of their breathing, chests rising, and falling, up, and down.

"You weren't kidding about—"

"It depends on the context."

"I see that."

Kitty felt rather than saw Kurt's lazy grin. "I've learned a few things about you, too."

"Such as?"

"You're a woman who knows what she wants."

Kitty slid her naked thigh along his. "Is that a problem?"

" _Definitely_ not."

Kitty smiled in turn, enjoying the fuzz of static at the back of her tongue as she rubbed her cheek against his fur.

After a moment, Kurt said, "I was wondering... I haven't seen that dragon of yours recently…"

"Lockheed knows when to make himself scarce."

"That's comforting."

"He likes you."

"How sentient is he? I mean really."

"Sentient enough to like you."

Kurt made a small, amused sound under her ear.

After another comfortable silence, he said, "I'm so happy you came back."

Kitty's fingers grew still against his side. "Would you have come to find me?"

"That depends. Do you still have my watch?"

"I lost it."

"What—really?"

"Well—on purpose."

"Oh."

Kurt loosened her grip, enough to turn on his side to face her. "I don't know whether I would have come back," he admitted. "But… I hope so."

Kitty studied his face, his golden eyes and his proud cheekbones, his full, dark lips and his sleek fur. "Do you think we ever get over it?"

"Over… what?"

"Everything. Growing up, being mutants... everything."

"Oh Katzchen… mein prinzessin… Is it really that bad?"

"Eight years we've been fighting this fight, and for what? You still can't walk down the street without being chased with pitchforks, and I can barely manage to take three years off from saving the world to finish my degree."

To her surprise, Kurt dropped his head back into the pillow, and laughed. Not ironically, but deeply and genuinely.

Kitty pushed herself up to stare down incredulously at his beatific, smiling face. "What's so funny?"

"It's just… Walking down a street? Finishing a college degree? Anyone can do those things. But how many people get to walk across the plains of distant alien worlds, or apprentice in the labs of the world's greatest geniuses? All things considered—I think we have it pretty good."

Kitty blinked, perplexed by his sudden though familiar optimism. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"An hour ago, you told me you weren't over it—that you'd never been over it."

Kurt's smile faded into something calmer, but equally genuine. "Yet without all that, we wouldn't be here."

"Or—we would have been here earlier."

"Are you proposing a temporal paradox?"

"Kurt..."

"Or an alternate universe? Those always work out _so well_..."

"Okay, okay. I'm being dumb. I get it."

She ground her teeth as she dropped her own head back into the pillow, wishing it was five minutes ago, before they'd resumed talking.

Kurt sat up to gaze down at her, lips still bent with a hint of a smile, a thick lock of hair tumbling over his forehead. "Katherine Anne Pryde—you are the _smartest_ woman I know."

Kitty chewed her cheek, resolve faltering. "You mean that?"

"From your incomparable knowledge of programming languages to your excellent taste in men."

Kitty started to smile, marveling at the reality of his presence, at the unbelievable privilege of having him there, within her reach, in her bed. It felt like she'd been waiting for such a moment for a very long time, for longer than she could even recall. Then her smile began to tremble, throat tightening.

"Oh Kurt…" her voice cracked on his name as she turned her cheek into the pillow, scrunching her eyes shut.

Kurt settled himself behind her, fingers gently stroking her shoulder. "Why is it my jokes always do this to you?" he chided, nose nuzzling her neck through her hair. "It's the language barrier, isn't it? How will we ever overcome it?"

Kitty finally managed a silent laugh through her threatening tears, giddy, tired, and entirely happy.

"I'm sorry," she managed. "It's been an emotional day."

"I know," he assured her.

Kitty didn't know how long they lay there, Kurt's tail looped around her thigh, his hand nestled between her breasts. It could have been a moment; it could have been all the moments. Just before losing consciousness, she experienced a brief flicker of doubt, realizing: tomorrow, she would wake up in Kurt's arms for the second day in a row. What did that mean? A night of drunken passion was one thing. But had things gotten simpler, or infinitely more complicated?

But then, Kurt's sleepy lips kissed her shoulder, and she knew: she didn't care. Tomorrow was tomorrow's problem. Right now, she was exactly where she was supposed to be. And it had taken far too long to get there not to be thankful for every moment, every touch, every smell, sound, and feeling.

Snuggling into what felt like a long-lost home in the tender press of Kurt's body, Kitty slept.

**~ END…? ~**

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_**A/N:** Thanks for reading! If you're reading this for the first time, good news! It's the middle part of a trilogy! The three stories are: "Parts of a Whole," "A Different Sameness," and "Whole Into Parts."_


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